


Learning Experiences

by MsThunderFrost



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alpha Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Sex, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Knotting, M/M, Mating Bites, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Jaskier | Dandelion, Post-Coital Cuddling, Rimming, Scent Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:53:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24097627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsThunderFrost/pseuds/MsThunderFrost
Summary: “...You’re cold?” Geralt asked, a surprising amount of concern coloring his tone.Jaskier blinked, “Well… yeah. I mean, I’m sort of sitting here, mostly naked－,”Geralt squeezed him a wee bit tighter, “I noticed.” He purred, each word accompanied by a distinctive puff of hot air against Jaskier’s chilled skin, sending shivers of pleasure down the smaller man’s spine.“－and there is actual frost on the ground.” He paused, seemingly just now registering the thick, pulsing warmth nuzzled up into the small of his back. “Really, Geralt? I didn’t know that you found being bested by nature to be so… exhilarating.” It was meant as a tease, to try and ruffle the Witcher’s feathers, and it worked… sort of.“I can’t help it.” Geralt purred, one of his overly large paws snaking down to dip into the front of Jaskier’s smalls. He could smell the slick as it began to ooze from the omega’s fluttering hole, “You smell absolutely divine.”
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 15
Kudos: 1017
Collections: The Witcher





	Learning Experiences

It was an afternoon like any other. 

Jaskier was laid out beneath a vibrant redwood, lute-calloused fingers plucking idly at strings, stringing together a melody that was not entirely unpleasing to the ear. He was well-aware of the fact that Geralt had been struggling to start a fire for the last fifteen minutes or so－they’d been caught in the midst of a torrential downpour, and every last piece of wood within a mile and a half’s journey was too soaked to spark. Well, all the wood except that of Jaskier’s lute, of course. The very thought that he would allow  _ any _ sort of harm to befall his beloved instrument, even if it was just a spot of rain, was utterly laughable. Do you  _ know _ how much damage a little water can do to a  _ wooden _ instrument? He’d dare say it was even more hazardous than flame.

_ Anyhow _ , he knew that Geralt had been attempting to start a fire for some time, and he  _ also _ knew that the chances he’d be anything more than a hinderance to the Witcher were slim to none, should he try and offer his assistance, and so he’d decided to provide a bit of  _ white noise _ in an effort to soothe the savage beast. Besides, the chances of Geralt growing so frustrated that he tried to use Filavandrel’s lute as firewood were significantly  _ lesser _ if said lute were still attached to Jaskier’s body. Even Geralt, frustrated beyond all measure, could admit that the bard would make for rather poor kindling. So he strums, and hums, and ponders how Geralt would respond if he told him that his soft little grunts of frustration have an oddly musical quality to them… Probably not too well, but still…

Suddenly, Geralt was behind him, his obscenely large hands curling around Jaskier’s biceps as he settled his chin on the bard’s shoulder and inhaled, slow and deep. Golden eyes, framed by long, thick lashes, slowly fluttered shut. “No luck?” Jaskier asked, chuckling softly when Geralt’s stubble brushed along his overly sensitive neck.

“Hmm,” Geralt exhaled slowly, before shifting his face a bit to bury it more fully in the long column of Jaskier’s throat. He adjusts Jaskier until the omega is situated between his legs, before moving to wrap his thick arms around Jaskier’s middle and squeeze the bardling tight to his chest. 

“There’s a town just a few miles down the road.” Jaskier said, “It’s not ideal, but I can grin and bear it awhile longer if it means not succumbing to hypothermia in the middle of the night.” He continued with a wry little chuckle.

“...You’re cold?” Geralt asked, a surprising amount of concern coloring his tone. 

Jaskier blinked, “Well…  _ yeah _ . I mean, I’m sort of sitting here, mostly naked－,”

Geralt squeezed him a wee bit tighter, “I noticed.” He purred, each word accompanied by a distinctive puff of hot air against Jaskier’s chilled skin, sending shivers of pleasure down the smaller man’s spine. 

“－and there is actual  _ frost _ on the ground.” He paused, seemingly just now registering the thick, pulsing  _ warmth _ nuzzled up into the small of his back. “Really, Geralt? I didn’t know that you found being bested by nature to be so… exhilarating.” It was meant as a tease, to try and ruffle the Witcher’s feathers, and it worked… sort of.

“I can’t help it.” Geralt purred, one of his overly large paws snaking down to dip into the front of Jaskier’s smalls. He could smell the slick as it began to ooze from the omega’s fluttering hole, “You smell absolutely  _ divine _ .”

“W-Wonderful as this attention is,” Jaskier hissed as sword-calloused fingers enclosed around his cock. It made a valiant effort, but even with Geralt’s masterful hand working him over in slow, even strokes, he wasn’t able to make it much further than half-mast. “I’m afraid that’s the best you’re going to get out here in this weather…”

It wasn’t that it didn’t feel good, but rather that Jaskier was wet, and cold, and downright miserable, and no amount of nuzzling and stroking and grinding was going to bring his mood around. Geralt seemed to understand this, because in this next moment he was digging through one of Roach’s saddle bags for something moderately dry－he decided on a blanket, moth-bitten and covered in a fair amount of hair… both Geralt’s  _ and _ Roach’s－to drape across the omega’s shoulders. Just as he was about to thank him for the blanket, Geralt  _ lifted _ him clean into the air and settled him down, side-saddle, on Roach’s back. Jaskier blinked, struck dumb, as Geralt slipped the lute from his hands, and quickly, but carefully, slipped it into it’s case and slung the strap over Roach’s back.

“Did I… die of hypothermia, somewhere along the line?” He asked, only half-joking. Geralt  _ never _ let him ride Roach, unless he was teetering on the brink of death. And he certainly wasn’t this…  _ openly _ affectionate. 

“No,” Geralt purred, stepping between Jaskier’s legs to hook his arms around the bard’s waist, nuzzling his face up into the smaller man’s chest. “Are you comfortable? You still feel a little cold－,” and then the lumbering oaf started taking off his own, mostly dry clothing, to pile on top of Jaskier. 

“What are you－keep your clothes on, you idiot! You’ll catch your death of cold!” And wouldn’t that just be terribly anti-climactic? Having valiantly slain all of these creatures of nightmare, just to succumb to a little fall of rain?

“I won’t.” He assured, tucking his shirt in around the exposed bits of Jaskier’s flesh. “ _ You, _ on the other hand…”

Jaskier sniffed, combing his fingers through Geralt’s damp, silver-white hair. “Why’re you being so  _ nice _ all of a sudden? Did that kikimora keep you under the surface longer than－,” Geralt’s large hands moved to stroke up between his thighs, and anything else he may have wanted to say died in his throat beneath a soft little whine.

“...Are you happy, Jaskier?” Geralt asked, voice soft. Jaskier blinked a few times, confusion making his mind a bit foggy. Was he…  _ happy _ ? Of course he was, but…

Geralt was teeming with nervous energy, which only seemed to grow in magnitude the longer Jaskier took to answer his incredibly odd question. “I’m very happy, Geralt.” He watched as Geralt’s face lit up in the darkness, and decided to risk adding, “ _ You _ make me very happy.”

The Witcher continued to purr, tilting his head into Jaskier’s hand like a cat eager for scritches. It was unfairly adorable. “Such a pretty omega... “ he cooed sweetly. “And all  _ mine _ .”

“Yours, yes.” He confirmed, immediately, despite his mounting confusion. 

“Sleep now.” Geralt said, the overwhelming heat from his hands leaving pinpricks of pleasure along Jaskier’s slightly chilled skin. “I’ll call for a bath when we arrive at the inn. And give you a nice, long massage. Make you feel so good.” He said, nosing at Jaskier’s neck, lips grazing over the raised skin of his bonding site. 

Jaskier wasn’t quite sure  _ how _ , but he ended up sleeping, sprawled out over Roach’s back in a fairly comfortable position. He woke several hours later, now cocooned in multiple blankets, to Geralt  _ growling _ at the innkeeper. Apparently the poor beta had made the mistake of asking after Jaskier’s condition (a natural concern, considering that Jaskier  _ was _ , in fact, mostly naked beneath the fleece blankets, and somehow still dripping wet despite being sheltered from the rain) and Geralt was suddenly murderous, the uncharacteristic sweetness from earlier in the glade gone without a trace. And he wasn’t sure  _ why _ Geralt’s sudden display of aggressive possessiveness had him ready to roll over and  _ present _ , hot slick oozing from his channel like a godsdamned  _ river _ …

Geralt’s nostrils flared, the scent of his omega’s arousal clouding his senses. He squeezed Jaskier tighter to his chest, his grip just this side of painful, and snapped at the innkeeper for a room and hot water for a bath. A handful of coins, probably much more than that which would have been necessary to cover the cost of a room for a  _ week _ ,  _ flew _ across the counter, and the innkeep all but  _ threw _ the room key at Geralt. Geralt didn’t wait to receive directions to the room (the inn was rather small, and could only realistically house so many rooms, but Jaskier still found himself a bit put-off by Geralt’s anti-social behavior－he worked hard to fix Geralt’s image problem, dammit, he didn’t need Geralt undoing his hard work by growling at helpless old women!), proceeding to carry him upstairs.

“Geralt.  _ Geralt. _ ” Jaskier thunked his alpha on the chest, “What the hell was that back there, huh?”

“She was looking at you.” Geralt hissed, as if this was in any way a satisfactory explanation of his behavior. Jaskier was ready to pull his hair out, except he  _ couldn’t _ , because he couldn’t  _ move _ , because Geralt had him bundled in a fucking  _ cocoon _ . He wished that he had the slightest as to what in the  _ hell _ was going on.

“Yes, Geralt. People do that. It is an unfortunate byproduct of having eyes.” He said, voice dripping with sarcasm… until it became apparent that Geralt may, in fact, be legitimately contemplating how to divest the woman of her eyes. “Seriously, Geralt, what the fuck? A little possessiveness is hot every now and then, but－,”

“Are you upset with me?” Jaskier blinked several times. His brain must’ve been deceiving him, because it sounded like Geralt was  _ whining _ . “Please… Please don’t be upset. I can make it better. I can  _ be _ better.”

Jaskier frowned, “Are you… absolutely certain you’re feeling alright, Geralt?”

Geralt entered their room and carefully deposited Jaskier onto the bed.  Geralt carefully peeled the layers away from Jaskier's body, seeking unadulterated access to the bard's beautiful skin. Jaskier was still pissed, but he wanted to be free from his blanket cocoon, and so he let Geralt unwravel him, layer by layer. It was not long before he was bare before the Witcher... he presses the palm of his hand against Geralt's chest, applying the slightest amount of pressure. He certainly does not think he could best the Witcher in a test of strength, but he also knew that that slight resistance was all it would take to clue Geralt into the fact that he was uncomfortable with things progressing further. And while refraining from touching Jaskier in that moment seemed to physically  _ pain _ Geralt, he didn't press further. 

That was one of the things that he loved about his Witcher. He'd had the great misfortune of encountering a number of alphas over the years who were of the mindset that their omega was  _ property _ , there to service the needs of their alpha and to look pretty on their alpha's arm. But Geralt... His status as an alpha didn't protect him from being treated like week-old horse shit caught in the tread of a nobleman's riding boots. He knew what it was like to be treated like your consent didn't matter, and from the start of their courtship, had always stressed that Jaskier could tell him 'no'. Not only could he tell him  _ no _ , but Geralt would  _ listen _ when he did. He wouldn't push for, wouldn't take, what Jaskier was not willing to give him freely. And Jaskier loved him all the more for it.

But right now... He's honestly concerned about his mate. Geralt was prone to the occasional fit of insecurity, sure, but inciting Jaskier's ire usually wasn't enough to make him  _ grovel _ . Fuck, Geralt doesn't  _ grovel _ , period. Even when he'd apologized for the incident on the mountain, he'd managed to somehow maintain his characteristic, sarcastic charm, whilst sounding genuinely apologetic for what had transpired. But now... He's acting like the thought of upsetting Jaskier, even over something as inconsequential as an innkeeper they'll likely never see again, is absolutely soul-crushing. Reaching for Geralt, he cupped the Witcher's chin tenderly, smoothing the pad of his thumb over two-day growth of stubble. A soft moan, tinged with desperation and sadness, spilled over the Witcher's full lips. 

"P-Please, Jaskier..." his skin was surprisingly warm. How had Jaskier missed that earlier?

"I'm worried about you, Geralt. This..." Jaskier worried his bottom lip, trying to think of a way to communicate his concerns with Geralt without making the other think he's hated  _ everything _ about the last several hours, because that's not true at all. 

"It... hurts." Geralt admitted softly, his voice scarcely loud enough for Jaskier to hear, even with their current closeness. Jaskier frowned. "I-I want you, so fucking much. I just... I want to bury myself in your tight little ass, want to breathe you in－,"

Jaskier frowned. All of this because... "You're horny?" He supposed that it made sense, in a roundabout way. Geralt had been a proper terror when he was sleep-deprived, so it wasn't  _ too _ far out of the realm of possibility to assume that his current mood-swings were the result of a particularly bad case of blue-balls. 

Except... Jaskier liked to think that their sex life was particularly active, especially considering that he was... Fuck it, he's not  _ old _ , but he's certainly not as young as he once was, when he was a bright-eyed young bardling in a tavern in Posada, with an eye out for adventure and a loaf of bread stuffed down the front of his pants. Geralt moaned, and... Melitele's tits, was he...? Jaskier looked down between his legs, to find Geralt rutting against the side of the mattress. He dragged his plump bottom lip between his teeth, heavy-lidded golden eyes rolling back in his head as he humped the stiff, straw-filled bedding hard enough to  _ shift the entire godsdamned bed _ . He was being very careful to avoid touching Jaskier as he desperately chased his own pleasure, but－

Holy fuck, what Jaskier wouldn't have given to trade places with the bed, just for a moment. There was absolutely no reason that that should be so  _ hot _ . "I... yes? No? I-It's more than that. I can't... I don't know h-how to...  _ Fuck _ ."

A thought occurred to him, then. "Geralt, are you... are you due for a rut, darling?" He couldn't believe that it hadn't occurred to him sooner, but then, their mating bond was still relatively new. And the mutations made the Witcher's cycle... wonky, for lack of a better term. 

Geralt had seen Jaskier through a handful of heats over the last year and a half (his heats had become more sporadic after he hit the big four-o and his fertility had tanked, and honestly, he was grateful－his heats had always been a particularly miserable experience, and while having a mate at his side to help ease the ache had made things a  _ bit _ better, he was anxiously awaiting the day that they stopped completely), but so far, none of those heats had triggered a rut. Which was… good, he guessed. It could take a few cycles for an omega’s heat cycle to sync with their alpha’s ruts, and even then, an alpha’s ruts were much more infrequent. But considering that an alpha’s primary desire during a rut was to  _ breed _ , and Witcher’s… well,  _ couldn’t _ … he’d just kind of assumed…

“A… rut?” Geralt repeated, sounding a little uncertain. Could it be… Well, he supposed, he might not actually have been that far off. It sounded like this might be Geralt’s first rut… or, at the very least, the first time he’d heard that word associated with the feelings building inside of him.

“Mmm,” he softly caressed the sharp line of Geralt’s chin, “Just a fancy word for an overwhelming desire to breed. It… It would definitely explain the clinginess, the need to  _ please _ and  _ protect _ .” He said.

“ _ Jaskier _ …” he breathed, his heavy lidded molten amber eyes cloudy with arousal as he worked his hips against the bed in tight, rhythmic circles. The front of his black, high-waisted pants had grown wet and tacky with pre; the scent of his arousal filled the air, so thick Jaskier thought he might  _ choke _ on it. 

“D-Do you want to－,” gods, what an absolutely  _ stupid _ question. Of  _ course _ he wanted to! The only thing preventing Geralt from mounting him then and there was－

“D-Do you… want to, that is? With… me?” Geralt’s grip on the mattress was so godsdamned tight, he could actually  _ hear _ the fabric tearing. His reserves of self-restraint were quite admirable, but he doesn’t need to hold himself back any longer. Jaskier understood now, and he knew how to help.

“C’mere, you.” Gently, Jaskier hooked his arms underneath Geralt’s armpits and dragged him toward the bed.

“I…  _ Fuck _ .” The sudden shift in position caused their groins to brush, and suddenly Jaskier was crushed beneath the full-weight of a highly-aroused, slightly-flustered Witcher. 

“That would be the plan, yes.” He laughed.

Reaching up, he tangled his fingers in Geralt’s disheveled silver-white hair, dragging him in for a surprisingly gentle kiss. Geralt’s lips were chapped, and still a bit cold from their time in the rain, despite the fact that they’d been settled in the inn for a little while now. The Witcher responded eagerly to his touch, shifting slightly so that he was less  _ crushing _ Jaskier beneath his weight and more  _ straddling _ him in what could be considered a messy attempt at a hug. His tongue traced along Jaskier’s plump bottom lip, before lazily working its way inside his sweet mouth… skilled, yet trembling fingers worked their way down Jaskier’s bare chest, exploring miles of creamy, pale skin, littered in thick, dark curls－a proper feast for his hungering eyes. Gods, but his omega was beautiful…

Breathless, he broke the kiss, latching onto the sharp line of Jaskier’s jaw and nipping a trail of brilliant red bruises along his delicate skin. His massive, sword-calloused hands worked their way over the exposed flesh of Jaskier’s chest and shoulders, suddenly incredibly grateful for that unexpected downpour.. Jaskier shuddered beneath him, a soft red flush blooming in his chest and gradually working its way up the long, delicate column of his throat, to settle on his cheeks. Geralt’s teeth, just sharp enough to break Jaskier’s delicate skin with the right application of pressure, glide along the soft curve of his neck, deep lines of crimson red blooming in their wake. Nimble fingers, long and thick and  _ graceful _ , teased his rosy buds as his hands made their way down his sides. 

Somewhere along the line, Jaskier began unbuttoning his shirt, but Geralt had neither the time, nor the patience, to allow his mate to undress him properly. Not when his pretty little omega is wet and wanting beneath him. He tore the fabric clean down the middle, shrugging it off of his shoulders and tossing it into one of the dark, dusty corners of the room, steadfastly ignoring the way that Jaskier rolled his eyes and bitched about how  _ they weren’t made of coin _ . He had at least half a dozen shirts, in various states of repair and cleanliness… He could worry about the one that he’d torn later on. He then hooked his fingers into the waistband of Jaskier’s trousers and  _ tugged _ , the expensive material peeling away from Jaskier’s skin with a wet  _ schlip _ as－

Holy  _ hells _ , he hadn’t realized that Jaskier was already so  _ wet _ . Tossing the trousers aside, he spread Jaskier’s legs wide, taking a moment to appreciate his omega’s flexibility, before－He swallowed hard, molten amber eyes fixating on the omega’s puffy, twitching pucker. The skin was red and irritated, and thoroughly coated in a thick, translucent fluid that smelled absolutely  _ divine _ . He pressed his nose to the seam of Jaskier’s inner thigh, inhaling deeply. Here, so close to his throbbing sex, his scent was so much stronger. Saliva pooled in his mouth, his pupils dilating as he was suddenly overcome with the overwhelming desire to  _ taste _ . In fact… he twisted, just a bit, flattened his tongue, and licked a sloppy, wet strip along the omega’s taint and over his trembling pucker.

“O-Oh,  _ shit _ . Geralt!” Jaskier’s hand tightened in the Witcher’s hair, tugging to the point of near pain. His other hand clawed down his pale, battle-torn back, leaving vicious red tiger stripes in his wake. 

“Hmm,” massive hands gripped the firm globes of Jaskier’s ass, spreading his cheeks wide as he worked him over with his tongue again… and again… until finally, the tip of the Witcher’s tongue probed at his hole, pressing into him so impossibly  _ slow _ Jaskier was certain he was going to lose his godsdamned mind.

“More… come now, G-Geralt, this isn’t a-a time to  _ tease _ .” Jaskier whined, his back arching as he attempted to force Geralt closer. He wasn’t ordinarily a head-pusher, but then, Geralt wasn’t ordinarily such a fucking  _ tease _ .

Geralt’s tongue slipped out of him with a horrifically lewd  _ schlip _ , but he wasn’t left bereft for long. His tongue worked in slow, lazy circles around his quivering channel; his careful attention was rewarded with another hot gush of sweet slick. Geralt’s chin was positively  _ drenched _ in Jaskier’s essence, but he didn’t seem to care, adjusting Jaskier so that the smaller man’s legs were splayed over his shoulders and bending him clean in half to get a better angle at－fuck, fuck,  _ fuck _ ! How could a person’s tongue even  _ move _ like that? He… there was no distinct rhythm to the movement of his tongue, but what he lacked in rhythm he certainly made up for in enthusiasm. His tongue pistoned in and out of Jaskier so fast, the bard was seeing  _ stars _ ; his body felt like it was  _ melting _ －

“G-Geralt,  _ please _ －,” he felt the Witcher shift against him, grunting as he struggled with the ten-thousand buttons holding his trousers closed (seriously, why he continued to wear those gods-forsaken pants was beyond him－it was always a fucking hassle trying to take them off). 

And then Geralt was rolling him onto his belly, stuffing a handful of pillows underneath his hips to bring them up to the perfect angle… Jaskier held his breath, back arching as the fat, flared head of Geralt’s cock prodded his entrance, the pressure mounting as the throbbing organ pressed against the slick ring of muscle and－ _ oh gods _ . Jaskier melted against the mattress as Geralt sunk into him, inch after glorious inch of cock filling him to the absolute brink. He felt… holy fuck, there were no words. He was just so  _ full _ . Geralt stretched out over Jaskier’s back, tangling his fingers with Jaskier’s and squeezing tight, their intertwined hands disappearing beneath Jaskier’s body… His other hand gripped the sheets, the fabric twisting and tearing beneath his fingers.

It was never going to last long. There was no telling how long Geralt had been holding himself back, not knowing what it was that he was experiencing. Jaskier shifted his hips, relishing in the hot, feverish slide of his aching cock against the pillows each time Geralt thrust so deliciously deep inside of him. Geralt panted, burying his face in Jaskier’s neck, lapping at the sweat that pooled along his skin as his hips moved of their own accord. His knot had already begun to swell, the rough skin tugging at his sensitive rim with every thrust… Gods, his knot feels so  _ different _ when he’s not strung out on his tenth orgasm and drunk with heat-induced lust. Bigger.  _ Fuck _ , he wasn’t sure how that was possible, but－

“Hng…  _ Geralt _ …” he came in messy spurts all along the pillow, clenching tight around Geralt’s knot. Geralt fucked him through it, his thrusts becoming frantic until, “A-Ah!”

The knot caught, sealing them together, just as Geralt’s teeth clamped down on his neck, directly on top of their mating mark. “Hmm…” he released Jaskier’s skin, lapping at the sluggishly bleeding wound as he spilled inside his mate, purring contentedly all the while.

It took him awhile to catch his breath, and in the meantime, he lavished in Geralt’s gentle, tender caresses, the Witcher’s free hand lazily mapping out the contours of his body. Finally, he was able to force out a weak, “So… you feeling a little bit better now?”

Geralt nosed at his hairline, “A little.” He conceded. “I… I think I could probably go again.” He grimaced, “A couple more times, actually.”

Jaskier snorted, “I’m not going to be walking for a week, am I?” Carefully, they rolled over onto their sides, so that Geralt could spoon his bard. “But that’s a conversation for when your knot goes down. Right now…  _ sleep _ .”

“Yeah.” Geralt squeezed his hand gently. “...thanks, by the way.”

“Nothing to thank me for, darling.” Jaskier purred. “I do believe that this is going to prove to be a thoroughly  _ enjoyable _ learning experience for the both of us.” 


End file.
